Treachery in Death

by J. D. Robb

  “I maneuvered Garnet into a thirty-day rip, which didn’t take much—and to do the mouthing off in her office, in front of her face. So that makes her look bad—like she can’t control her men.”

  “That must’ve been satisfying.”

  “Oh, yeah. Among other things I did today, I went to the Bronx.”

  She filled him in on the conversation with Allo as she drove.

  “You gave Peabody that angle of the investigation because of her experience in the locker room.”

  “Partly. She’s good with the tiny details, and I want the answers on Devin but don’t have time right now to dig in. Not the way Devin deserves. And if Peabody’s able to gather the evidence that points to Renee, or her command, on that officer, it’s going to outweigh that locker room experience. It’s not payback. It’s justice. She’ll have helped get justice for another cop, and it’ll matter a lot to her.”

  “Which shows, my darling Eve, the difference between a strong, intelligent, and—though you won’t like the word—sensitive leader and one who aims to lead only for gain.”

  She’d have preferred intuitive to sensitive, but let it go.

  “How did everybody miss it, Roarke? Start with her father—but I guess there are times a father doesn’t see or has to pretend he doesn’t. Her trainer. I looked at him. Sterling record, trained good cops. It feels to me like her father had a hand in picking him for her—they were partners for eight years—about the same age. Mira missed it, Whitney missed it, her captain, her previous LTs. She slid right through.”

  “She wasn’t always dirty.”

  “Fuck she wasn’t,” Eve said with some force. “She may not have started her ‘business’ until a few years ago, but she was always dirty. Some cops who work under her, she gives them a buzz, and at least two of them end up dead.

  “You know why she didn’t get between me and Garnet today—and that’s just what she should have done, clean or dirty. Why she didn’t move to control him quick enough? Because having him go at me gave her a nice little tingle. She liked it, and I’m damn sure she would have loved it if he’d beat me bloody in front of her. She’s got the brains to know she can’t have that, had to maintain, but she’s got the belly for it. I screwed up her orderly pile, so she’d love to watch me bleed.”

  “And you didn’t want backup?”

  “She’d love it,” Eve told him, “but she can’t afford it. Not yet.”

  She found a spot a block from the pub, snagged it. “Since Webster’s got a life, you’ll need to wait for him to find a spot, walk him in.”

  “I’ll be walking my wife in first—or at least to the point where I can watch her go in. They’ve got a corner table ready for you.”

  “Did you put muscle in there?”

  “Darling.” He tapped her chin. “I always have muscle in there. It’s an Irish pub, after all.”

  Her ’link signaled again. “It’s Darcia. You can watch me from here—and I’ll be talking to another cop while I walk half a block. I think I’m covered if some bad guy jumps out, and I faint from fear.”

  He had to grin at her as he watched her walk away.

  “Dallas.”

  “Hi. I was hoping we could make good on that drink.”

  “Actually, right now ... would be good,” she decided. “Or say in thirty? O’Riley’s Pub,” Eve said, and gave Darcia the address. “Can you get here?”

  “I’m loving getting around in New York.”

  “Great. Listen, I’m actually walking into the place now. I have a meet—another cop. You could do me a favor.”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t come over to the table unless I signal you. If I don’t, I’ve still got to work it a little. When I do, you could stroll on over. Like you’ve just come in and spotted me—but we had a meet set.”

  “No problem. Are you going to tell me why?”

  “One of these days.”

  “All right then, half an hour.”

  “Chief Angelo?” The title made Darcia smile. “You’re easier to work with than I remember.”

  “But I’m not working, am I?”

  Eve tucked her ’link away and strolled into O’Riley’s.

  Fiddle music piped out of the speakers, a backdrop to conversations among the grab-a-drink-after-work crowd. In a few hours, she knew, musicians would settle into one of the booths with their instruments, pints at the ready, and fill the place with bright reels and sad songs. The bartenders would hustle, pulling pints, pouring glasses for the crowd that invariably packed in.

  The little redhead waved to her, gestured to a table for two. Eve remembered her from when she’d joined Roarke and a couple of his out-of-town business associates who’d wanted a taste of an Irish pub, New York style.

  “Get you a drink, Lieutenant?” the redhead asked, and balanced her tray on her hip.

  “Not yet, thanks.”

  “Just give me a sign when you’re ready.”

  Eve sat down, back to the wall, scanned the customers. Coworkers winding down, some tourists, a guy doing his best to hit on a couple of twenty-somethings who were stringing him along.

  Cop didn’t blip on her radar.

  And Renee came in.

  She’d changed from her power suit into a little black number that showcased her body, left toned arms bare. She’d paired it with hot red heels so her toes, painted the same color, could play peekaboo, and left her rain of blond loose. The complex series of sparkling links around her neck held a round red pendant.

  She did her own scan, Eve noted, a slow sweep with eyes expertly shadowed and smudged. Then sent Eve a friendly smile as she walked toward the table.

  She likes knowing she’s caught attention, Eve thought, that men are checking her out and women are wondering who she is.

  “Thanks for meeting me.” Renee slid onto her chair. “I hope I’m not late.”

  “No.”

  “Do you come here a lot? It looks like a nice, friendly place. Unpretentious. A working man’s bar.”

  Eve wondered what the reaction might have been if she’d set the meet at the Down and Dirty. “Now and then,” she said, and caught the waitress’s eye. “Nice outfit,” she commented. “You didn’t have to dress up for me.”

  “Actually I’m meeting my parents for dinner later. Have you—”

  She broke off as the redhead came to the table. “What can I get you, ladies?”

  “Pepsi, on ice,” Eve told her.

  “Oh, come on, Dallas, live a little.” With a bright, beaming smile, Renee tossed back her hair. “We’re off duty, aren’t we? And I’m buying.”

  “Pepsi,” Eve repeated, “on ice.”

  “Well, I’m off duty. I’ll have a vodka martini, straight up, two olives.”

  “I’ll get those right to you.” The waitress set a snack bowl of pretzels on the table, then went to put the order in.

  “I was going to ask if you’d ever met my father.”

  “Not formally, no.”

  “I’ll have to introduce you sometime. I’m sure you’d enjoy each other.” Renee took a pretzel from the bowl, broke it in half, nibbled. “We should have dinner. You, your husband, my father and I. Roarke’s certainly a man I’d like to meet.”

  “Why?”

  “Like my father, he has a strong reputation, and it would seem, a gift for command. He’d have to, to have reached his level of success. It must be fascinating, being married to a man who commands that much power, with so many varied . . . interests. I heard you vacationed in Europe this summer.”

  “You want to talk about my summer vacation?”

  “I don’t see any reason you and I can’t be friendly, do you?”

  “Do you want a list?”

  Renee sighed, sat back, and continued to nibble on the tiny piece of pretzel. “We really did get off on the wrong foot, and I’m willing to take responsibility for a great deal of that. I was upset about Keener, and I admit, territorial. So we butted heads when it would’ve been more e
fficient, and certainly more productive, to work in tandem.”

  She paused again when the waitress returned with their drinks. “Anything else I can get you for now?”

  “We’re good,” Eve told her. “Thanks.”

  Renee lifted her glass. “Why don’t we drink to a fresh start?”

  Eve left her glass where it was. “Why don’t you define fresh start?”

  In the snug, Webster watched the exchange. “She’s chapping Renee’s ass.”

  “She’s good at it,” Roarke agreed. “She’ll wind her up. The more Eve rejects the overtures, the more Renee will push.”

  “It’s a good play. Garnet’s hammering her on one side, Dallas is blocking her on the other. You know Dallas is trying to get Renee to come at her—to set Bix on her.”

  “I know my wife very well.”

  The faint emphasis on my wife had Webster shoving his hands in his pockets. “I thought you and I were settled.”

  “It’s hard to resist giving you the needle now and again. See the body language there,” Roarke pointed out. “Eve, slouched, kicked back. Disinterested. Renee tipped forward a bit. Working hard to engage. But her foot taps under the table—hard rhythm. She’s angry.”

  Roarke glanced over, smiled at Webster. “Fancy a beer?”

  “Yeah, but until this is done, I’m on. You go ahead.”

  “Ah well, we’ll wait on it.”

  At the table, Renee sipped her martini. “I’m apologizing for not giving you my full cooperation over Keener. He’d been my CI for a long time, and though I didn’t use him often in the last few years, we had a history. I felt, right from the start, you were shutting me out. I reacted to that. You and I have different styles, Dallas, obviously. And they’ve clashed. I’d like to put that behind us.”

  Eve shrugged, and at last picked up her glass. “My investigation of Keener’s murder may require more information from you, may require me to question members of your squad who knew him, had dealings with him.”

  “Understood. But I can tell you neither I nor anyone in the squad used Keener much. He’d occasionally feed me some small change, and I’d see he got a twenty. But I kept him as a CI mostly out of sentiment. He used more than he should have, and his information had become less and less reliable. He didn’t have solid contacts anymore.”

  “Then why did somebody kill him, and go to so much trouble to stage it as an OD?”

  “I can’t answer that. Hopefully your own CI has some information that will give you some lines there. I’m asking that we cooperate with each other on this. I’ll give you whatever I can to aid your investigation. I want to be in the loop. I want to know what you’ve got.”

  “I’ll copy you on all data I deem appropriate.”

  “That’s a start.” Obviously pleased with that, Renee put on the earnest. “Now, about my detective. Dallas, I want you to understand when Bix and Garnet went into that flop ... it was just bad timing. If they’d known he was dead, you were investigating, I promise you, they’d have come to you with full disclosure.”

  “I’m curious. If Keener didn’t have solid contacts, only fed you small change and so on, why did your detective feel he had some connection to or information on the Giraldi matter? And feel so strongly enough to illegally enter his residence? I never got an answer to that.”

  “They followed a tip, and frankly, I think it was a blind. I agree they acted hastily, and I’ve spoken with both of them about it. If they’d informed me before following the tip, I could have told them Keener was dead. We’d have avoided all this. I promise you it won’t happen again.

  “About Garnet—”

  “You don’t want to go there.”

  “I have to.” Renee spread her hands in appeal. “I’m his lieutenant. He was absolutely and completely in the wrong. There’s no excuse.”

  “Fine, we agree. Subject closed.”

  “Do you ever bend?” Renee snapped. “He lost his temper. You were in his face, and he lost his temper. He’s put a lot of OT in on the investigation, done miles of legwork. He was on edge, and the confrontation with you pushed him over.”

  “He damn near knocked me over,” Eve reminded her.

  “And that’s regrettable. You have my file, and you know how essential he is to closing this case. I’m asking you for a little consideration. I’m asking you to let me discipline my own man, my own way. You can’t tell me you’ve never had one of yours snap back at you, or another superior officer.”

  “If one of my men behaved in the way yours did today, I’d write him up myself. And I wouldn’t make excuses for him, much less whine about needing him on an investigation he’s obviously too strung out to work efficiently.”

  Eve watched Darcia step into the pub as Renee’s hand fisted on the table.

  Well shit,” Webster muttered when Darcia moved into the range of the monitor. “What are the odds?”

  Roarke arched an eyebrow at Webster’s reaction. “Very attractive, isn’t she? The sultry brunette. She’s Darcia Angelo, Chief of Police on Olympus.”

  “Yeah. We’ve met.”

  “Really?” Roarke’s smile spread slowly as he added two and two into four. “This just gets more and more interesting.”

  “Christ” was Webster’s opinion. “I’m really going to want that beer.”

  In the pub, Darcia wandered to the bar, shook her head at the bar-tender, and settled down to watch the table.

  “I take responsibility,” Renee began.

  “It’s a little late for that.”

  “Goddamn it. I do need Garnet. You pushed. He pushed back. He was wrong, and he’s earned a good, hard slap for it. I’ll give him one. Two weeks without pay after the investigation closes, and he’ll have to ride a desk for another two. I’m just asking you to pull the rip.”

  Now Eve shifted, eased forward. “You’ve got the nerve to ask me for a solid when you stood there, did nothing, while your man insulted me, while he threatened me, while he struck out at me. And you want to give him a slap on the wrist for it—when it’s convenient for you? You dangle dinner with Dad at me to pave the way, like I’d sit up and say ‘yes, please.’ Your man’s a hothead, one with no respect for authority. Including yours. Nobody talks to me as he did today and walks away smiling. If he were mine, he’d get the boot.”

  “He’s not yours.”

  “Exactly.” Eve shrugged, sent a subtle signal to Darcia. “He’s your problem.”

  13

  “ THE COMMANDER ISN’T THE ONLY ONE I CAN speak to about this,” Renee said.

  “Speak to whoever you want.” Eve added a shrug and a bored glance at her watch. “Garnet earned the rip. It stands. Hey, Darcia.”

  “Dallas.” Darcia stopped at the table, beaming smiles. “Sorry, am I early? I’m interrupting.”

  “No, you’re right on time. Chief Angelo, Lieutenant Oberman. The lieutenant and I are finished.”

  “For the moment.” Her rage palpable, Renee shoved back from the table. She turned her back without acknowledging Darcia and stormed out with a sweep of hair and an angry click of heels.

  “My, my, my.” After following the drama of the exit, Darcia turned back to Eve, batted her lashes. “Something I said?”

  “No, it’s on me—and so, apparently, is her drink. Have a seat. Give me a second.” Eve pulled out her com, tagged Feeney. “She’ll be coming back to you. You might want to adjust your volume down a few notches, spare your ears the blast.”

  “Copy that.”

  Eve tucked her com away again, smiled, said, “So.”

  “So indeed. You made her very angry, then put some lace on it by making her think you double booked.”

  “The last was just the whims of fate when you got in touch about a drink.”

  “And she didn’t even finish hers.”

  “Yeah, let’s take care of that.” Eve started to signal the waitress, spotted Roarke and Webster coming out of the snug. “I guess we need a bigger table.”

  “Oh?”
Darcia glanced over her shoulder. “Oh,” she said again, but with a kind of purr that had Eve’s antennae quivering. “Roarke.” She offered a hand. “Isn’t this fun? Detective.”

  “Chief.”

  Eve looked from Webster to Darcia, back again. This time she said, “Oh.”

  “They’ve a bigger table for us,” Roarke announced with the glint in his eye of a man anticipating an interesting time. “You can have that beer, Webster, if you’re set on it, but I think this calls for the bottle of wine I took the liberty of ordering.”

  “I’d love it.” Darcia stood, shifted to Webster. “Let’s see, an NYPSD lieutenant being monitored by EDD, and IAB on the scene. It appears the whims of fate had me walking in on some of your official business. I hope it’s not a problem.”

  “No. No problem.” He pulled back her chair at the table for four.

  “We enjoyed the show,” Roarke commented as he sat beside Eve.

  “I came in just at the finale—but I believe I follow the story line. You’re looking at this Lieutenant Oberman for something—and as Dallas is involved, something must include murder.” She tipped her head to the side. “I’d vote for a dead junkie. Since Don’s here, it also involves an internal investigation.”

  Don, Eve thought. Christ.

  “We can’t really get into it,” Eve told her.

  “Understood. But obviously we don’t like her. Though I did love her shoes. By the way, I bought three pairs at that fabulous little boutique you sent me to yesterday, Dallas.”

  “Why?” Eve leaned forward. “Sincerely. I’ve always wanted to know why anyone buys multiple pairs of shoes at a time.”

  “If I have to explain it, the joy is lost.”

  “And how have you spent today?” Roarke asked her as the waitress brought four glasses and a bottle of red to the table.

  “Shopping—I can’t stop myself—and I spent a wonderful two hours in the Metropolitan Museum. Had a late lunch.” She smiled at Webster when she said it.

  A hot beam of a smile, Eve thought. Like a tropical sun.

  Roarke sampled the wine, approved. “Plans for the evening?”